Amateur hour

Awful news about the Japanese earthquake and tsunami. The TV full of film of the tsumami surging across fields and towns engulfing all before it. I am worried for Hiroko and Raine who live on the east coast of Japan in Makinohara in the Shizuoka area. It seems though that because it is a long way south, it would not have been hit as the fault ran parallel to the north eastern coastline, and the tusnami went straight inland or out to sea. So as far as I can tell Makinohara, where Hiroko lives, wasn't affected by the Tsunami. Romy has not been able to contact her mother and sister yet. Facebook coming into its own with an ex-colleage posting stranded in Narita airport, and uploading photos of people sleeping on the floor.

Otherwise I was more animated today thanks to the sleeping pill last night. Managed to get into the final stages of my poem The Moth Display which I have been tinkering with for about four years. Also began writing a new play, an SF spoof, which is starting very well.

Unaccountably tetchy by the evening. Not helped by tiredness, and two of my clients showing no signs of paying for work I did in January. House without heat or hot water, other than my shower. Japanese events however make my petty gripes seem like nothing.

In the evening off to Lewes for the snappily titled Root & Branch, The Moss Rich ‘Sounding the Site’ Poetry Prizegiving at the Foundry Gallery. The event also had some film and music, involving choirs. Turns out that there had been lots of people 'shortlisted' for the poetry prize, presumably to build up the numbers. Many had schlepped there to receive no prize nor even a namecheck, which must have galled.

I was runner up in the 'general public' category, as this was done in league with the university. I loathed being a runner-up. It was a very mediocre field, judging by the poems read out. The winner in my category was a nice piece about having a new garden. Dragged myself to the stage, to be handed a piece of paper with 'Runner Up' written on it by the very sweet Mrs Rich. Her husband Moss Rich sent us a message by film as he is in hospital but is a rather sparkling 101. Meanwhile the evening's host congratulating poets on their ability to just get up and read. I read my poem very well, which made me feel a bit better. But runner up? I've spent all my life being a good loser, and I am sick of it.

There was new music by Helen Glavin called Anthem for Trees. This was melodic and rather lovely. But I think Matt's influence has got to me and I found it rather unchallenging. The choirs were newly formed but were very likeable for all that.

At the end there were some short filmed sequences. The first called The Lonely Queen was about a mermaid, which when it mentioned trees, the film showed us trees, and when it mentioned a river, the camera showed us a river. I wish someone would explain that far more interesting things happen when you do not duplicate what you see with what you say.

By now I was in a hateful faultfinding mood, with my positive principles having checked out for the night. Stomped up the hill to the Lewes Arms with Lorraine where we had a restoring pint of Harveys before returning quickly to Brighton, bag weighed down by the Pighog Poetry books I'd won as my prize.

Below: reading my poem. Lighting showing off jowls nicely.